


A Brief Foray Into Ministry Match-Making

by lordkristoffbjorgman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Everyone loves Draco Malfoy, F/M, Fluff, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Office AU, Pining, Quick-Quotes Quill (Harry Potter), Redeemed Draco Malfoy, but not really, minor blaise/luna if you really squint, post-war AU, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordkristoffbjorgman/pseuds/lordkristoffbjorgman
Summary: Ginny bets ten galleons that it’ll happen at the New Year’s dinner party the Potters hold every year.She tells Rita, “Harry begged me not to, but I told him to bugger off because he can’t tell me what to do with my galleons when I make more than him anyways.”A week later, Harry Potter himself materializes in her office from under his invisibility cloak and pleads with Rita for her silence.He bets ten more galleons that it won’t happen until Valentine’s day.Or, the Ministry Office AU in which Rita Skeeter meddles in personal affairs and the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement and company is in on it.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	A Brief Foray Into Ministry Match-Making

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Dramione work and I'm excited to join the fandom! This came to me one night as a spin on The Office, despite never really having watched it, but it didn't exactly turn out that way. I love and appreciate kudos and comments and any feedback you guys have!

**_Spring, 2005_ **

“And you became a Death Eater during your sixth year at Hogwarts, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you defected after the war, didn’t you dear?”

A sneer melts through Draco’s well-practiced composure. “Obviously,” he drawls, words tinted with a hint of disdain as his gaze falls to the faded dark mark poking out from the edge of the twice-rolled robe sleeves; his Ministry dress code compliant robes - because he works for the Ministry.

“Of course you did, darling!” The witch seated across from him in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s break room throws her head of blonde curls back in a raucous laugh, as though his wretched past is amusing to her. The ringlets bounce rather animatedly – taunting him.

They look stiff – Draco notices, focusing on anything other than the conversation before him – mildly crunchy and not at all soft. No, not nearly soft enough for him to run his hands through – and he doesn’t like the yellow blonde color either, too reminiscent of Hufflepuff, he decides.

Yes, he much prefers soft curls, the type that grow in frizz and size after hours of squabbling with incompetent Aurors who wouldn’t recognize a curse if it hit them in the face, preferably warm brown in color, almost like caramel – no, more like warm chestnut with hints of caramel – that smelled of something sweet, like sticky toffee pudding. Yes, that’s nice, Draco concludes, much nicer than –

“Sweet bloody – ! “ The sharp pressure of long, red wine painted and perfectly manicured nails digs into his upper thigh with a tight squeeze and Draco snaps out of his reverie, coming face to face with Rita Skeeter, whose buggy eyes are all the more alarming up close.

Her laughter is replaced with a look that frankly feels predatory, not that Draco wasn’t used to predatory looks from witches, but this made him shiver.

“I said of course you defected, didn’t you darling,” her tone shifts gravely as she eyes him with scrutiny, “otherwise we wouldn’t be here – ” she gestures grandly at the department around them, “ – now would we, dear?”

Draco gulped. “No?”

“No, you didn’t defect?” Skeeter tips forward in her chair, poised to jump on the story of the century.

For the first time since he begrudgingly agreed to this interview, Draco notices the heavy green quill, briskly scratching at a piece of parchment hovering near its owner. He can see the headline now – _MALFOY HEIR LEADS DOUBLE LIFE: LOYAL DEATH EATER AND MINISTRY EMPLOYEE?_

“Don’t mind the quill, dear,” Skeeter snaps at him, impatience and suspense tinging her tone, “Did you or did you not defect?”

Draco splutters, “Of cour – I just said! Why is that even a question?”

“Just checking dear!” She dismisses him with a manicured wave, “Got to have all the facts for my loyal fans and avid readers, you know?”

Draco bites down a particularly vile retort about Skeeter’s fan base. He knows far too much about them to be amused.

“Is this a joke of some sorts? Did Weasley put you up to this?”

“Weasley? Of course not dear,” she chuckles at him patronizingly, “Have you got something against him? One third of the Golden Trio, you know – and so sickly infatuated with one Miss Patil, from what I hear.” A frighteningly devious look morphs on her face and she pointedly taps a finger on that nose she sticks in everyone’s business. “Poor Ms. Granger, you wouldn’t happen to know her opinion on that…arrangement?”

Draco vaguely registers the pause of quill scratching on parchment.

“Herm – uh, I mean, Granger?” Draco feels the familiar tinge of heat crawl up his neck. “No I wouldn’t – I mean – she hasn’t mentioned anything – ”

Over Skeeter’s shoulder, he catches sight of the witch in question, laughing animatedly at something the bumbling Hufflepuff Finch-Fletchley has said while wandlessly stirring a spoon in the mug of coffee gripped in her dainty hands.

Two sugars and a hefty splash of milk.

Draco snaps.

“No. Alright, and now you’re just wasting my time with – _idiotic_ – questions about my co-workers personal lives, which frankly, I have no interest in ever knowing about, thank you very much.” He huffs, furrows his brow, and for good measure adds, “This interview is over, you may see yourself out.”

“Of course, dear – ” it’s sickeningly sweet, “ – but I’ll be sticking around, books don’t write themselves you know!”

She smiles cloyingly at him and with the wave of a hand vanishes the Quick Quotes Quill.

With another flourish of her wand, Rita Skeeter turns on her heel and exits the break room – hideous knockoff crocodile skin bag bobbing behind her – and Draco finally exhales the breath he’s been holding since she stepped into the DMLE that morning, dropping his head into his arms with a groan.

When he looks up again and glances out the break room window, Granger is already staring at him curiously. When their eyes meet, the wrinkles in her brow soften oh so slightly before furrowing in conflict again, but she turns and enters her office before Draco can start out of his seat.

Only then, after a thin veil of disappointment replaces Granger’s presence, does Draco recall Rita Skeeter mentioning something about a book.

* * *

“Today I am joined by Ms. Ginny Weas – ”

“That’s Ginevra, to you.”

The quill stops scratching.

“Alright, Ms. Ginevra Weas – ”

“It’s actually _Mrs._ Ginevra Potter, as of last month.”

“Ah yes, of course, my apologies and congratulations,” Rita Skeeter smiles sickly sweet at the fiery red head across from her in the breakroom. “Although I wouldn’t know seeing as I never received my invite to the wedding.”

“Purposefully so,” Ginny grumbles under her breath.

“Speak up dear! The quill doesn’t understand inane mumblings.”

“Nothing at all, _dear_ ,” She smiles with fake sincerity. ”Let’s get on with this interview, or do you plan on taking up the limited amount of time I have to see my husband while at work?”

Rita barely manages to contain the roll of her eyes, and with an almost imperceptible wave of her perfectly manicured nails – a sickening chartreuse color this week, Ginny notes – the sound of scratching quill fills the room once more.

“Alright, today I am joined by Holyhead Harpies Chaser, _Mrs._ Ginevra Potter, who so – hmm, willingly?” The quill pauses again. “No, ah! – who so _generously_ – ” Rita drawls the word with a hint of sarcasm and the scratching resumes, “ – offered her time today to speak on the issue of magical cooperation between former Death Eaters, who joined the Ministry in 1999 as part of war reparation efforts, and well, everyone else.”

“Happy to be here Rita,” Ginny charms.

“So, Mrs. Potter, in your – _limited_ – experience at the Ministry post-war, can you honestly say you believe Death Eaters are capable,” the timbre of her voice drops, “or even _deserving_ of redemption?”

“What kind of bollocks question is that?”

“No need to get defensive dear, just answer the question.”

Ginny crosses her arms and frowns. “The whole point of _former_ Death Eaters joining the Ministry was part of the reparations decree, which has already expired. All of the _former_ Death Eaters that remain Ministry employees and continue to serve the magical community do so out of their own free will.”

“A simple yes or no would have sufficed dear.”

“Then yes,” Ginny huffs, “I do think they are capable of redemption, and no thanks to witches like you who seem to think themselves so high above the rest.”

“You don’t think the Ministry was too lenient in their punishment?”

“Frankly, I don’t think the Ministry did enough for reintegration efforts. Ex Eaters wouldn’t even have been eligible for employment if Hermione hadn’t intervened before the decree passed.”

“Ms. Granger, you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Rita.”

“Just checking dear. And what was it she did again?”

“She proposed the stipulation that ex Eaters should be allowed to join the Ministry – under supervision for two years, of course – as part of their rehabilitation, rather than the four years of probation offered otherwise.”

“Ah yes, I remember now, her little pet project. Quite – hmm, altruistic? Yes, _altruistic_ – of her given her long history with Death Eaters, do you not think so?”

“On the contrary, I think it was quite in character of Hermione.” Ginny narrows her eyes at the scheming witch, “And you shouldn’t comment on personal affairs of which you know nothing about.”

Rita waves a hand dismissively, “Completely off the record of course.”

The Quick Quotes Quill continues to scratch away.

“I just find it intriguing that despite Ms. Granger’s efforts, only one _former_ ‘Eater’ – as you put it – remains an employee of the Improper Use of Magic office. What does that say about the quality of her leadership?”

“Please,” Ginny scoffs, “Hermione is the youngest – and most qualified – Head for her department. It was only under her supervision that all the ex Eaters employed here were able to move into higher Ministry positions after their probation.”

Rita leans towards her with a glint in her eye, thinly tweezed eyebrows climbing towards her hairline. “Except for one.”

“If you care so much about Malfoy’s position at the Ministry why don’t you bring it up with him?” Ginny muses defensively.

“Of course that is the plan eventually, but it is oh so fun to hear from a _fresh_ – ” Rita licks her lips predatorily, “ – outsider opinion.”

“Malfoy has long since paid his dues to the Ministry, and Hermione would tell you he is an invaluable asset to the Improper Use of Magic office. As for your presence here, I’m not sure anyone could say the same,” Ginny sneers, a tendency she had likely picked up from the wizard in question himself.

“Yes but I want to know what _you_ think about him, dear.” Rita tsks at her, “No one is blind to the fact that the houses of Malfoy and Weasley have had a – tumultuous – history, to say the least.”

“As you said, the past is history, and that is all it will ever be.” Ginny uncrosses her arms and begins tapping her wand impatiently on the table beside her. “If you’re looking for someone to bash on Malfoy, you best look elsewhere. Now is that all? I’d like to actually have lunch with my husband – like I had _planned_ – if you don’t mind.”

Despite the look of disappointment that contorts Rita’s features for a split second, much to Ginny’s amusement, the reporter plasters on a cheery smile and concedes, “Of course dear you’re free to go, I’m sure I will find some use for your _insightful_ comments.”

Ginny smiles painfully and stands from her seat, nodding her head at the blindingly bright blond, and without offering her hand or even attempting to mask her distaste says, “It’s _always_ a pleasure to meet with you, Rita,” in a tone that rather candidly suggests that the truth is quite the opposite, and sweeps through the open door of the breakroom without another word.

* * *

“As I’ve heard it, Ms. Granger, you are the youngest witch in the Ministry’s history to head an office?”

“Well yes, you have heard correctly – but I wouldn’t have been able to do it without – ”

“Now, now – Ms. Hermione Granger dismissing her own achievements? You are the Golden Girl after all, I should think if anyone was _worthy_ of such a position it would be you?”

Hermione glances anxiously out of the break room window. In the main office she can see documents flying everywhere, probably because Justin – if she was being honest – had forgotten to contain the pair of magically charmed dustbins they had picked up just outside of Elmbridge that morning, which now seem to be midway through an attempt to shred and consume every unsecure bit of parchment in the office

She snaps back to attention when Skeeter clears her throat, impatiently waiting for an answer.

“I wasn’t given my title because I’m the _Golden Girl_ , thank you, I earned it just like every other Head of department at the Ministry after years of work implementing legislation and – ”

“I would never suggest otherwise darling,” but the upward curl of her lips suggests exactly that, “I was merely wondering whether _you_ think your – triumphs – during the war had any effect on your employment here?”

“Hardly,” Hermione scoffs, “there’s hardly much overlap between fighting a war against dark wizards and running the Improper Use of Magic Office.”

Outside, a small crowed seems to have gathered around the chomping dustbins, which rather look to be in the process of swallowing Justin’s desk whole, having moved on from the paper work.

Her employee and former classmate in question is nervously running hands through his hair at the sight, and keeps throwing furtive, desperate glances in the direction of the breakroom.

“I beg to differ, unless you think that dark magic is not a prime example of the improper use of magic?”

Hermione swivels towards the woman she had trapped as a bug in a jar during her fourth year and bites out, “and being an unregistered Animagus is not?”

Skeeter has the decency to look mildly ashamed at her accusation, but replaces the look with one of practiced professionalism after a few moments. “Of course, but as you know so intimately, I have been registered with the Ministry since nineteen – ”

“Ninety-Four, yes,” Hermione interrupts, unable to focus much attention on anything other than the chaos occurring outside.

From what she can see, there are now about ten dustbins, all equally as destructive, wreaking havoc on the floor.

Poor Marietta Edgecombe, trembling like a leaf, is perched atop her desk and rapidly being descended upon by two rogue bins, while every other witch or wizard in sight is either cowering behind their own desks or otherwise occupied wrestling a dustbin of their own, poorly aiming spells that fly across the office and miss their targets entirely.

The muted sounds of screaming float through the break room door, and Hermione jolts out of her seat, wand at the ready. “You’ll have to excuse me – ” but as her hand touches the door handle her eyes land on the unmistakable head of white blond hair strutting through the office, regulation black Ministry robes billowing behind him, and the tension in her shoulder relaxes minutely.

(“I do not _strut_ , Granger,” He would chide her when she recalled the moment later, “I can’t help to have been born with admirably long legs, just as you can’t help but be a bit of a know it-all. We all have our flaws,” He would say primly, but it would be accompanied by a teasing tug on one of her outlandish curls and all would be forgiven).

She pauses at the door and watches as within a few seconds and just as few outrageous flourishes of his wand, Draco subdues all ten dustbins – which, with a pop of magic, become two again – and with a final twirl sends all the parchment floating in the air into a neat pile on Justin Finch-Fletchley’s regurgitated (and slightly disfigured) desk.

The breath Hermione hadn’t realized she had been holding rushes out of her lungs and her shoulders drop below her ears.

She watches Draco strut (yes, he struts) up to Justin, who has the decency to look sheepish even though his arms are raised in defense against the dustbin he had been wrestling mere moments before.

Even from afar, Hermione can see the pinched look on Draco’s face and she knows he’s fighting the urge to snap at Justin, but he schools the frustrated expression into one of cool indifference and mouths a few intelligible words at the Hufflepuff, who scurries away.

When her gaze returns to Draco, she finds piercing grey eyes already staring at her. He nods in greeting, and Hermione allows her grip on the door handle to loosen. She doesn’t need to barge in and save the day at every sign of disruption (a habit she’s been working through in her departmentally mandated mind-healer sessions).

Hermione trusts him implicitly, and allows herself to settle back into her seat across from Rita Skeeter, who has been watching the chaos unfold in front of her with a decidedly bored look, and takes a few deep breathes to re-group.

“Ready to continue, Ms. Granger?”

“Yes of course, sorry for the delay, Justin’s new to the department you see – ”

“Never mind that,” Skeeter bristles, clearly impatient, “Do you not think dark mag – ”

The breakroom door opens, interrupting their conversation for a second time, and through the crack pops Draco Malfoy’s immaculately combed head of hair.

“Sorry to bother, Granger,” he sounds deceptively cheerful about his intrusion, “Have you heard back about the case in Brent?”

He knows she has. She left the files on his desk along with a muggle cappuccino – the kind he can’t resist – early that morning before he left the office for a day of field work.

“I left the files on your desk this morning Malfoy.”

“Must have missed them!” He grins at her cheekily and begins to take a move backwards out of the doorway.

“Wait!”

He steps all the way into the room instead.

“I though you were supposed to be in Pendle on the Smith case all day?”

Leaning against the doorway casually, Draco folds his arms across his chest. “I am, but you see I received the Finch-Fletchley alarm – ”

“Don’t call it that.” Hermione burns.

“ – and I had to see what all the fuss was about. Can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

“Of course, well I appreciate you – ” The red climbers higher onto her cheek bones, “ – I mean, uh, I appreciate what you did out there.” She gestures dumbly at the calm office behind them.

“My pleasure, Granger.”

Without a single acknowledgement to her interview partner, Draco nods at Hermione again before taking his leave. Through the dwindling crack in the doorway, Draco smiles once more, a brilliantly real one, just for her, and pulls the door shut with a gentle click.

Hermione, breathless and blushing, turns to Skeeter who is eyeing her with a wolfish grin, and stutters, “What was the, um, what was the question again?”

* * *

“I know they tease me a bit for being new around here,” Justin Finch-Fletchley reaches a hand up and rubs the back of his neck, “I did cause quite a few accidents in my first week, but I swear I’m learning!”

Rita rolls her eyes, “and how has Ms. Granger taken to your accident prone nature?”

“You mean Hermione? Oh, she’s great!” The wizard who still looks like he can’t be older than 16 straightens up, “probably the best boss I could have asked for, given the circumstances.”

“Given the circumstances?”

“Well the Ministry had a bit of a hard time relocating me after I accidentally let those Doxies loose in the atrium a few months ago,” the sheepish look returns. “Caused a bit of a wreck, they did, but Hermione volunteered to take me on in the DMLE!”

“How kind of her.”

Justin doesn’t catch on to the resentment in her words.

“Right? I was a little worried at first, after all, you know she was a little high strung back at Hogwarts, but I think working with Malfoy here really mellows her out.”

“They complement each other well then?”

“Well they argue a lot in the office, but whenever Hermione gets on one of those bleeding heart advocacy stints of hers, Malfoy really knows how to win the right people over for the cause.”

“How charming.”

“And you know, where Malfoy’s got the whole _former Death Eater_ bit going on, Hermione’s a great advocate for him too. Very Gryffindor and Slytherin of them, I think.”

“Yes well aren’t they a perfect pair,” Rita straightens abruptly, gathering her crocodile bag and turning away from the disfigured desk in front of her, “Well Mr. Filch-Fletcher, although my quill and I thank you for your truly – insightful – comments, I’m afraid I must be off.”

“No problem, Ma’am!”

And then she’s taking off through the office, heels clacking loudly against the floor, when a faintly curious voice float through the air –

“Does anyone know who she is?”

* * *

“And how frequently am I to expect to be called away from my work for one of these – _interviews_ of yours?”

“I can assure you Mr. Malfoy, may I call you Draco? I can assure – ”

“Mr. Malfoy will do, but by all means continue assuring me that this is not a waste of the valuable resources the department is in dire need of.”

Draco watches Skeeter balk at his bluntness.

“Well then, _Mr. Malfoy_ , I can assure you that this will take no longer than a few minutes of your precious time each week.” Skeeter lowers her glasses and matches his stubborn gaze over the rims. “Books take months to write, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to misrepresent any aspect of your character when I present it to the Minister, would you?”

Draco’s eyes narrow and he remains quiet, but Skeeter’s gaze is just as steady, an impenetrable force.

The Quick Quotes Quill pauses, mirroring it’s witch by leaning forward in anticipation.

Draco concedes, leaning back in his desk chair. “No of course not, Ms. Skeeter. I have utmost respect for the writing process.”

Her sunny disposition is back in a fraction of a second.

“Wonderful! Now, you joined the Ministry six years ago, yes? As part of the War Reparations Decree if I remember correctly.”

Draco folds his hands and cautiously places them on his desk.

“That is correct.”

“And you found yourself satisfied with the work you produced as a Junior Representative for the Improper Use of Magic Office?”

“No not exactly,” He frowns at the thought. “It is difficult, to say the least, to produce your best work under constant supervision for two years.”

“But it was better option than the alternative?”

“If you’re asking whether working for the Ministry for two years is a better alternative to four years of probation under house arrest, then yes, I would say it was a much better and productive alternative.”

“And did you find it terribly difficult to engage in magical cooperation with your co-workers?”

“I highly doubt anyone made friends with ease, except maybe Hufflepuffs,” he considers, “after the war.”

“I’m not asking about friendships Mr. Malfoy. I want to know how your co-workers received the news that they would be made to work with – pardon my crudity – a former Death Eater.”

Draco’s arms move from the desk to fold across his chest, leaning further back in his chair, as if closing himself off.

“I hardly see how that is any of your business.”

“Indeed, I believe it to be entirely my business, Mr. Malfoy, after all, the Ministry did commission me to write an analysis on the magical cooperation and reintegration of former Death Eaters post-war.”

Draco scoffs at the gall of this woman. She’s become even more outrageous than he ever remembered her at Hogwarts. Why the Ministry was foolhardy enough to hire her, he will never understand.

Even so, her question makes him think. He would like to say he gets along well with the majority of his co-workers, especially the elderly witches in the filing room who always offer him handfuls of lovely little toffees whenever he deigns to visit them.

Yes, he is pleased to think that he gets along with most of them, maybe not Finch-Fletchley – the fire breathing tea kettle incident during his first month had made a horrible impression – but otherwise he has a gentle camaraderie with his co-workers.

It took years of course, but he kept his head down and trained himself to bite down on any vile thoughts and insults that threatened to reveal his bitter temper during the first few months after the war.

“I will admit, they were apprehensive at first, but I’ll have you know I was acquitted of most charges – my trial was highly publicized, you should know – due to the testimony of a few of the same schoolmates I came to work with, which I am extremely grateful for.”

“I was there, Mr. Malfoy, It would be hard to forget the beloved Golden Trio testifying on behalf of a sworn enemy.”

Draco smirks at the nickname and drawls, “The Golden Trio.”

“You know who I am referring to. Would you say your relationship with them has not improved even the slightest after five years in close quarters at the Ministry? A source of mine tells me your relationship with Ms. Granger has become quite complementary ever since she assumed Head of the department.”

“Complementary?” Draco snickers at the thought, “Did Granger tell you this? She would use such a terribly boring word.”

“Unfortunately I cannot reveal my source at the moment.”

“Ah, well then all I will reveal is that I have nothing but the highest regard for Granger’s performance as my department Head, even if I think her talents are wasted as a Ministry employee.”

He meant to say it as an indifferent observation, but Draco catches the hint of reverence that warms his tone, and stands abruptly.

“I must ask you to leave my office now, Ms. Skeeter, I’m afraid I am terribly busy with – ” he glances down at the tab of a file laying closed on his desk, “ – caterwauling cauldrons.”

Draco silently curses himself, but at the same time he can’t help but preen at Granger’s praise.

**_Summer, 2005_ **

“Malfoy? You want me to tell you about Malfoy?”

“Yes, surely you remember him, he’s quite hard to forget, Slytherin, white blond hair, skinny legs,” Rita leans forward and whispers exaggeratedly, “former Death Eater?”

Harry splutters, “I bloody well know who Malfoy is, I’m just surprised you want to hear about him from me.”

“One could say you were enemies at Hogwarts, no? Slytherin versus Gryffindor, Golden boy versus the son of a Death Eater.”

Harry’s auror senses tingle and he narrows his eyes suspiciously, “I know that, but how do _you_ know that?”

“I have my ways, Mr. Potter,” Rita tsks. “Now, the question if you please.”

Harry blinks twice. “Right, Hermione said –” he pauses, internally debates whether he wants to go down that road, and decides, “ – never mind, I suppose I could tell you about Malfoy, better than talking about myself for another interview I reckon.”

“My thoughts exactly Mr. Potter. Now tell me, how has your relationship with Mr. Malfoy changed since his employment at the Ministry? I’m sure you see each other quite frequently in the DMLE even though you work in separate departments.”

“Malfoy’s an alright bloke,” Harry considers his words carefully, “we may not have been best mates at school, but we were also children and its fair to say we’ve both grown up since the war.”

“Do go on.”

“Sure, he’s a bit pompous sometimes,” Harry glances nervously at the Quick Quotes Quill hovering above him, “but he’s a great asset to the Auror Division when we need extra wands. You know, he saved a muggle boy from a particularly strangle-y swing set on a case back in January.”

“How selfless of him.”

“It really was,” Harry bites back a smile at the memory. “Poor bloke had to go St. Mungo’s for the rest of the week after it nearly choked him out. Hermione was livid of course, her best representative was out during the busiest time of the year for magical misuse.”

“You’re sure her temper was not the result of care for a friend?”

Rita licked her lips lasciviously, quill poised at the ready, and Harry shuddered at the familiarity of it all.

“I suppose,” he considered the though mildly, he and Ginny have some suspicions, but as frequently as she talked about him, their friend never really mentioned Malfoy outside of a work context. “Hermione was just buggered that I robbed her of her best employee, but she got over it soon enough when she visited him at Mungo’s and saw how bad the damage was. Looked a right mess for weeks every time someone brought up Malfoy’s fragile arse in front of her.”

“Entirely work related then, of course,” Rita says with a glint in her eyes. “Still, I find the pairing quite unusual – a pureblood wizard and muggle-born witch. Natural born enemies working together for the betterment of the Ministry?

“No one actually believes that shite anymore Skeeter. You’ll waste your time looking for something that doesn’t exist.”

“People don’t change that easily Mr. Potter, I should think someone with your – _range of experience_ – would know better.”

Harry huffs and readjusts his glasses. “On the contrary, there are a fair few men I would trust with my life now that I would have readily fought during the war. Does that not make all of us changed men?”

“If you believe it to be so, I doubt I can sway your convictions, Mr. Potter.”

“Will that be all then?” He glances warily at his watch and cranes his neck to peer through the ajar door of his office. “My wife is supposed to be meeting for me lunch, I really mustn’t keep her waiting.”

At that exact moment, as if she could sense his rising discomfort – bless her soul, Harry couldn’t love her anymore – Ginny appears in his office door, looking only mildly surprised by his choice of company.

“Harry,” she smiles softly, which morphs into a grimace as she turned to face the blonde reporter. “Rita, what a surprise.”

“Mrs. Potter, what a pleasure to see you again, it’s been too long.”

“Not bloody well long enough,” Ginny groans, quietly enough that only Harry can decipher it. He catches her eye and can’t help but snort at the exaggerated look of pain on her face.

“What was that?”

“I said the pleasure is all mine, _dear_.”

“Well in that case, your lovely husband and I were just discussing your friends Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy. My audience is dying for a better look at how the relationship of two destined foes has become one so – complementary – as of late.”

Rita waves the Quick Quotes Quill across the room. “Care to say a few words?”

Ginny scoffs, “Those two idiots? Harry – ” she spins on her heels to face him and he sends her a pleading look, “ – have they done something again? Harry, you know you’re supposed to owl me every time something happens,” she whines petulantly and Harry groans at the ceiling, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

All of his life achievements and he’s been reduced to gossiping with his wife and Rita bloody Skeeter about Hermione’s personal life.

Luckily, Rita pipes in before Harry can explain himself.

“Nothing new dear, just hunting for a little background I suppose, all in a writers craft, you know.” She taps her manicured claws on the wall next to her deviously, “Idiots, you say?”

Ginny’s entire disposition brightens, and she parks herself on the chaise lounge in his office, pointedly ignoring the mental daggers that Harry throws her way.

“Well not Hermione, of course, brightest witch of our age and all that,” she waves a hand animatedly, “although, I have said that she can be a bit daft sometimes, for a genius that is, haven’t I Harry?”

“You may have said that before.”

“Don’t be daft, of course I have. No, the idiot is Malfoy. For someone practically bottle-fed pureblood mannerisms, he really knows how to make a fool of himself, especially when it comes to Hermione.”

Harry pleads silently, _don’t you dare,_ but the twinkle in her eye is fixed and his wife smiles shrewdly before turning back to Rita.

“Harry hasn’t told you about the Mistletoe Incident, has he?”

“The Mistletoe incident? Do go on?”

The looks in both witches eyes are positively mischievous.

Harry groans heavily, not for the first time in his wizarding career wondering whether Neville would have had to deal all this had he been the chosen one.

* * *

“The Mistletoe Incident? I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco says primly, a true Malfoy heir.

“Ah, but your colleagues suggest otherwise, Mr. Malfoy, or shall I have to hear about it from Ms. Granger herself?”

Draco falters, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Even if I was aware of this _incident_ ,” the word sound venomous on his tongue, “I have no reason to see why it would be pertinent information for your book, Ms. Skeeter.”

She throws her head back in laughter, a familiar gesture for her, he notes.

“Everyone loves a little scandal, dear!” She says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Now let’s hear it.”

“It is hardly an appropriate conversation topic, Ms. Skeeter, I’m afraid I must decline, even if it were appropriate, I’m sorry to say it is not my story to tell.”

* * *

“The Mistletoe Incident!” Luna cheers delightfully and claps her hands at the memory. “Yes of course I remember, quite clearly in fact, it was the night of a Murtlap Moon you know. They’re said to be quite fantastic for your memory.”

“Yes a Dirtlap Moon, that’s all well, but what about the Mistletoe?”

“Well, Blaise told me that poor Draco lost a bet with Harry and Ron during the holidays, so they forced him to sign on to the Decorating Committee for the Ministry’s Annual Holiday Gala.”

“Zabini?”

“Yes, Blaise. And I believe poor Draco thought it might be a funny prank to charm the mistletoe to follow the boys around all night, because Harry came to me in desperate search of Ginny and his head was positively swarmed by them!”

“The boys being Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes of course, and I think poor Draco was secretly hoping for a snog of his own that night – I’m afraid he’s been quite lonely since coming to the ministry you see – but unfortunately his head was full of wrackspurts that night, I could practically see them with my bare eyes!”

“Wracksp – wait, what?”

“Wrackspurts of course!” Luna sighs airily at the memory. “They’re quite strong Mistletoe repellents if you didn’t know. It’s a shame they weren’t Nargles – ” another dreamy sigh escapes her, “ – Nargles quite like mistletoe.”

“I was not aware, but please continue with the story Ms. Lovegood.”

“Oh, well I guess the important part is that on the night of the gala, Hermione walked in on Ron and Padma snogging in the break room.”

“Mr. Weasley and Ms. Patil? Was he not still involved with Ms. Granger at the time?”

“Yes, Ron and Padma. The only way to break the Mistletoe charm was to actually kiss someone – Draco is quite good at charms actually, although he’ll never admit he likes them.”

“But what about Ms. Granger?”

“Ron was never _unfaithful_ , but they hadn’t been publicly separated yet, so you can see how it would have been a bit of a shock for Hermione to witness that.”

Rita mulled over Luna’s words, her Quick Quotes Quill vibrating with the onset of this news.

“And what happened afterwards?”

“Well Hermione was a mess of course, which is such a shame because she was dressed so lovely that night – oh! But how could I forget, Draco was shambles afterwards as well, poor thing blamed himself for ruining Granger’s night.”

“Was he terribly upset for her?”

“Personally, I think our dear Draco has always carried a bit of a torch for Hermione – he would never admit it, but I think part of the reason he agreed to the bet was because he knows how much Hermione adores the winter holidays.”

“Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger?” Rita sounds scandalized.

“Oh yes, can’t you tell?” Luna smiles vacantly, “The only reason he hasn’t left the department is because of Hermione, and I think she’s quite fond of him as well,” she contemplates that thought, “at least, she always seems to smile more when he’s around.”

“That’s very interesting news indeed, and you’re sure something is there?”

“Who knows?” Luna shrugs gently and rises to her feet, bag slung across her shoulders and radish earrings swinging wildly, “I see things some people cannot – or choose not – to see. I’ve been told it’s all in my head, but why ever should that mean it’s not real?”

* * *

Ron speaks through a mouthful of corned beef hash, “The Mistletoe Incident? Blimey – I didn’t know we were still talking about that around here.”

“The subject has come up a few times in casual conversation.”

“Right well, Harry told me you might be round for a chat. What do you want to know?”

“My quill and I personally want to know of Ms. Granger’s thoughts on the subject, however,” Rita grimaces, “she has been rather difficult to track down lately. You, Mr. Weasley, seemed like the next best option, given your – _attachment_ – to Ms. Granger at the time.”

Ron frowned. “That’s not like her, ‘Mione’s always in the office,” but it didn’t vex him for long. “I don’t know what everyone else has told you, but we weren’t together at the time. I know she was a little surprised, but if anyone is to blame for that – it’s Malfoy.”

“I am aware of Mr. Malfoy’s role in the incident. I take it you’re not a fan of his then?”

“Not at first, no. He was a right foul git at school, but once he dropped the pureblood act he became mostly tolerable.”

“And how does Ms. Granger feel about the incident?”

“Oh, ‘Mione hates to talk about it – thinks ‘interdepartmental camaraderie’ is a waste of time, but honestly I think it turned out alright for everyone involved.”

“How so?”

“Well,” Ron blushes a terribly ruddy red that rivals his hair, “Padma and I are going quite strong now. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m thinking of proposing on her birthday in a few months.”

Rita looked genuinely happy at the news.

“And for the others involved?”

“Well ‘Mione and I talked it out, and she’s totally cool with Padma now – they even go out for ladies drinks once a month with Ginny!”

“And Mr. Malfoy,” Rita presses.

“Poor bloke spent the whole next month trailing around ‘Mione to make sure she didn’t hate him afterwards – personally, I think she milked the victim act for a bit because Malfoy was at her beck and call, but she would never admit to doing anything for her own gain.”

“So he’s only a devoted employee?”

“Look,” Ron sighs and kicks his feet up onto the desk, “I’m fully supp – well, _mostly_ supportive of whatever weird pureblood mating ritual ‘Mione and Malfoy have going on. It’s not in my face and that’s all that matters to me.”

And honestly, Ron finds that he really means it. Ever since that night he’s watched as Malfoy’s naturally playful, teasing relationship with Hermione has turned into something new and strong and seamless. Half the time Ron thinks Malfoy might bloody well be able to read her mind, they way they work so efficiently and balance out each other’s worst traits.

Padma calls their partnership at work a force to be reckoned with.

Ron is loath to admit it, but sometimes he rather sounds like he likes the bloke.

Malfoy might never be worthy of her, but he tries, and Ron knows better than anyone else that’s what matters to Hermione most.

It was the downfall of their relationship after all.

**_Fall, 2005_ **

“Mr. Longbottom,” Rita purrs his name, eyeing him up and down hungrily. “If I may be so bold, I must say you grown up quite – _deliciously_ , since Hogwarts.”

Neville gulps.

“Have I?” He says faintly, voice catching in his throat, “I hadn’t noticed.”

His eyes flit towards the door, and Neville wonders how rude it would be to make an escape. The potted Wiggentree in his arms shakes ever so slightly.

“Oh yes,” Her voice drops an octave, “I could tell you just how much –”

“Have you got actual questions for me?”

Rita blinks incredulously at him.

After a minute she relents, “Well yes I suppose. As a Ministry employee –”

“Oh! I don’t work here, if that what you’re wondering, I’m just consulting on a case today.” He boulders through Rita’s stunned silence, “Is that all then? I really must be going – you know how Auror’s are – ” he rambles and begins shuffling backwards, “ – crime waits for nobody!”

And then he rips his bicep out from under Rita Skeeter’s clawed grip and all but sprints to the door, Wiggentree unceremoniously smacking the top of the frame on his way out.

* * *

Theo Nott is banned from entering the Ministry.

That doesn’t deter him from strolling through the open doors of the DMLE breakroom and nearly running head first into Rita Skeeter.

“Mr. Nott, as I recall from your sentencing last winter, you – ” she gestures up and down the length of his body with a singular crimson claw, “ – were barred from stepping foot in the Ministry without an Auror escort. So what gives?”

He hadn’t counted on anyone remembering that particular detail.

“And I thought you were a reporter, Skeeter, but the drabble you’ve been publishing lately says otherwise. Besides,” he adds primly, “a magician never shares his secrets.”

“ _Oh for fucks –_ Theo!”

Draco appears – looking harried – in the doorway.

“I told you to wait in my office!” He snaps.

“Well I got bored,” Theo drawls. As an after thought he turned to Rita and winks, “Don’t tell Potter, he might have a cow.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. Maybe he _should_ tell Potter.

“And what’s this rubbish you’re on about being a magician? Have you been terrorizing muggle children again?” Draco accuses him. “You know, I shouldn’t be surprise after the Time Turner incident. The amount of times your name shows up on file in my department is truly appalling.”

Theo crosses his arms in defense. “Well maybe if I saw you more I wouldn’t have to drag you out of your office by charming a few expendable muggle kids.”

He watches Draco’s eyes flit between Skeeter and that blasted quill of hers, which is writing at a leisurely pace even though it’s witch is pretending not to listen.

“We’re getting lunch today, aren’t we?”

“Only because I was going to blackmail you! Besides, I’m just surprised Granger is willing to let you out of her sight during the work day, are you sure she won’t have an _analism_ if you leave for an hour?”

Draco blinks dumbly at him.

“A _what_?”

“You know – ” Theo waves around his head, “ – the poor muggle brain ailment Granger’s always talking about?”

“Do you mean an _Aneurism_?”

“Yes!” Theo snaps his fingers and says slyly, “You _would_ know.”

“Theo what on earth are you talking about? Are you sure all the time travel hasn’t messed with your head?”

He quips, “The healers at Mungo’s aren’t sure,” but Draco looks more horrified than amused. “I just mean I’m surprised Granger is letting you out of the office during the day.”

Draco scoffs. “Just because she’s my boss doesn’t mean she controls every minute of my work day, Theo. I choose to keep busy with work, unlike _some_ people who laze around their parents mansions all day messing with cursed magical objects.”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t that long ago you used to lay around the Manor all day too. It’s not a bad thing mate, all I’m saying is that Ministry work has changed you.”

“Yes well, you mentioned that plenty before. Now do you want to get lunch or not, this is eating into your precious time with me.”

Theo shakes his head with a gentle laugh and make towards the door, but not before turning to the witch who had melted into the background of their conversation.

“By the way Skeeter, when you see Potter next, do tell him I said hi – I’d hate to miss out on an opportunity to mess with him.”

* * *

“Hermione and Malfoy,” Justin rolls the names over his tongue, interest piqued, “Yeah, you know what? Now that you mention it, they have seemed pretty cozy lately.”

He has a pumpkin pasty shoved so far down his throat, Rita can’t be sure she heard him correctly.

“You mean to say, the department Head is shacking up with her own subordinate?”

Justine brushes pasty crumbs off of his shiny new desk, and some of them land on Rita’s shoes. She’ll gag about that later.

“I wouldn’t say shacking up,” He leans forward and beckons her to do the same, which she does quite reluctantly. “But he does bring her lunch every day – rightfully so too, Hermione is probably allergic to voluntary breaks.”

“He brings her lunch? That’s hardly scandalous.”

The wizard leans back in his chair triumphantly, “Maybe not, but last week they were in there for over an hour, and I tried knocking you know – cause I accidentally set Macmillan’s desk on fire again – but the door was locked.”

He sounds smug.

“Locked? You sure they weren’t just having a meeting?”

“Be skeptical all you want, all I’m saying is when Granger came out, her hair was pretty wild,” He seems to consider that for a second. “Well, more wild than usual.”

Rita sighs – she really needs to get better sources.

“Alright, thank you again Mr. Flint-Fisher – ” Rita balks as she watches him kick his feet up on the desk. “I’m sure this is the last time I’ll call upon your services.”

“No problem,” Justin eyes her curiously, “By the way, what’s all this information for anyways? You’re not going to rat on them to the Minister, are you?”

“Everything I document here is for my upcoming book, surely I’ve mentioned that?”

“You mean you’re not the departmentally mandated mind-healer?”

It takes all of Rita’s energy not to hex him over her shoulder as she turns on her high heels and stomps out of the room.

* * *

Blaise Zabini strolls into Rita Skeeter’s office with the air of someone on a mission.

Sure, he hates the old cow just as much as everyone else who’s been the subject of her laughable attempt at “journalism” – if you could even call it that – but Luna mentioned her conversation with Skeeter like an afterthought one night, and ever since then Blaise has been fighting with the idea forming in the back of his big brain.

The idea won out of course, otherwise he would never purposefully torture himself with her presence like this.

Besides, he would never pass on an opportunity to mess with his best mates head if he could help it.

“Rita, _darling_!” He tastes bile. “How _are_ you doing these days?”

“What are you doing in my office Zabini?”

Rita looks unimpressed.

“Just checking in on an old – ” he swallows the lump in his throat, “ – friend of mine. That’s not illegal now is it?”

“The last I was aware of it, _you_ filed a restraining order against _me_ – a great personal affront I might add, I thought we got along so very well.”

She’s smiling through her teeth. _Perfect_ , Blaise thinks.

“It’s all water under the bridge Skeeter,” He props himself on the arm of the chair opposite her desk, “I’ve got a proposition that I think you’ll find hard to resist.”

“What could you possibly offer me that I would want, unless you’ve decided to let me report on your family affairs for _The Prophet_ again?”

“Keep dreaming Rita. No, I’ve come to offer you information. I’ve heard that you’re working on a little pet project at the Ministry – one that involves a certain pureblood-muggle-born duo.”

“Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger?”

Blaise snaps his fingers. “That’s that one!”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Purely selfish reasons of course,” he slides off the arm and into the seat of the chair, crossing an ankle over his knee, “Granger’s turned our poor Draco soft. I’ll be the first to admit it’s for the better, but I may lose my mind if I have to watch him bumble through another stunted confession only to give up at the last minute. Plus, I am desperately in need of entertainment these days – running a company is quite tedious work.”

“Confession?”

Rita waves her wand almost imperceptibly, but Blaise catches the sickly green Quick Quotes Quill slither out of a cabinet to his right, alongside a long roll of parchment.

“Can’t you tell? Draco is head over arse for Granger, and everyone knows it except for them.”

Rita’s eyes widen curiously.

“I have my suspicions – as a good reporter always does,” she preens and Blaise rolls his eyes, “but I’ll admit I’ve had some difficulties getting any information out of Mr. Malfoy himself. He seems unwilling to divulge any information about his relationship with Ms. Granger, professional or otherwise.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. He’s scared Granger won’t give him the time of day if he so much as lays a wandering hand on her body.”

“It seems quite out of character for a Malfoy to be so reserved.”

“The name Malfoy doesn’t mean bollocks to him these days. Draco worked hard to overcome the stain his lapdog father put on the name after the war. I think it’s entirely fair of him to want a reserved, domestic sort of life.”

“I suppose,” Rita hums, “but have you got any idea of Ms. Grangers feelings for Mr. Malfoy?”

“Oh, you mean the fact that she blushes a terrible Weasley red every time someone so much as mentions his name? Or the longing looks she sends him across the board room table every time he offers to present the daily agenda in her stead? Or how she fought tooth and nail for the promotion to department Head to protect Draco when half the Ministry had it out for him? Or is it the fact that they both stay in their deadbeat jobs because it’s the only way they know how to take care of each other?”

Blaise pauses, surprised as his own breathlessness. “I could go on,” he says pointedly.

“No, I understand you very clearly, but I’m just curious – you seem quite defensive on Ms. Granger’s behalf at her continued employment at the Ministry.”

“Please,” Blaise scoffs, “are you telling me you honestly think Hermione Granger’s brains and talent are best employed by the office of the Improper Use of Magic?”

“She seems to think so.”

“It’s a cover, and Draco is the exact same way. Neither of them want to leave because they’ll be forced to pop the little sickly sweet phase of pining that they’re trapped in and actually admit they have feelings for each other.”

“I see how it’s all very _romantic_ –” her face contorts over the word, “ – of them, but what role do I play in this scenario?”

“You, Rita dear, are simply going to push them in the right direction. I’ve watched them stumble around each other for years now, I want to have some fun with it before the opportunity is gone.”

It’s a tempting offer, Blaise knows. Rita Skeeter can’t keep her nose out of other people’s personal lives even if she wanted to, and he’s almost hooked her.

“Tell you what, in exchange for your professional meddling services, I’ll offer you a one-time only, full spread expose on the Zabini Family Enterprises.”

Rita’s eye twitches. Blaise smirks mirthfully.

He can see the wheels turning in behind her buggy little eyes, and he’s about to start counting down from ten when Rita beats him to the punch, sticking a perfectly manicured hand across the desk.

“You have yourself a deal, Mr. Zabini. You’ll be hearing from me soon enough.”

He grasps her hand in a firm shake and smiles wickedly charming.

“I absolutely dread the day, Ms. Skeeter.”

* * *

“Ms. Skeeter!”

Rita’s blood goes cold.

“Ms. Skeeter!”

She picks up her pace, speed walking through the atrium.

“Rita Skeeter!”

The voice is mere meters behind her. Rita halts abruptly and spins on her heel, grits her teeth, and smiles a tight lipped greeting.

“Pansy Parkinson, how funny seeing you here of all places.”

“Oh hush Rita, your face looks terribly pained, there’s no need to play nice.”

Rita’s body sags with the effort of her charade. “What could you possibly need me for, Ms. Parkinson?”

“Just Pansy will do,” the dark haired witch gestures for her to begin walking again, and they fall in step towards the elevators. “Blaise told me about the little deal you have going on, and I want in.”

“Why Pansy, I have no idea what you mean.”

“Cut the crap Rita,” she throws a piercing look at her company, and steps into the awaiting elevator, “Granger and Draco – I want in on whatever little bet you have going on with Blaise.”

Rita follows suit. “Alright, Mr. Zabini and I have made a perfectly professional business deal. There’s no money in it yet, but I could be convinced to wager on it.”

In tandem, they grab onto handles above them as the elevator gate shuts, and they’re hurtled backwards towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Alright, fifteen galleons that they get together at the Ministry Gala next month.”

The elevator comes to a jarring halt, gates grinding open.

“And what makes you so sure it will happen then?”

Pansy flashes her a winning Parkinson smile, and gestures to the unsuspecting garment bag slung over her arm that Rita hadn’t noticed before.

“Because I’ll be dressing Granger, and she’s going to look utterly irresistible.”

* * *

Draco sees Pansy walk out of the elevator with Rita Skeeter chatting _amiably_ , and freezes to a stop.

Yesterday, he would have thought the return of the Dark Lord was more likely than the scene in front of him, but then again, he’s been wrong about the Dark Lord before.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shake that image, but when he looks up again Rita Skeeter is marching in his direction followed by her infamous quill, and Pansy is throwing a sly wink over her shoulder as she disappears into Granger’s office with a Parkinson Style garment bag in tow.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Rita simpers, “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, I’m sure you understand how spontaneous the writing process can be sometimes.”

He doesn’t, and honestly doesn’t care to understand it either. All he wants is to wash his hands clean of this ridiculous “book” as soon as possible so he can focus on more important things.

His eyes flit towards Granger’s office, betraying himself.

“I do the Ministry’s bidding,” he shrugs indifferently and holds his own office door open for her to enter.

“How patriotic of you.”

“Yes well, I am forever indebted to the Ministry for the opportunity I was offered.”

“Now I highly doubt you actually feel that way.”

“We may never know,” he smiles charmingly – like he always does for the press – and sits behind his desk, “Now – questions? I’d like to finish up here quickly if you don’t mind.”

“Busy day for improper magic Mr. Malfoy?”

“More or less. The holidays tend to make people silly – lots of slip-ups, especially around muggles this time of year.”

“The department has expanded over the past few years, as I’m sure you’ve noticed –”

Draco hums in agreement.

“Any insights on why?”

“Good question,” Draco drawls, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, muggle dress shirt pulled tight across his chest. “I suppose it has to do with the baby boom, as Granger calls it, or the rise in magical births after the war.”

“Is that a common occurrence?”

“Well, Granger – who’s talked my bloody ears off about muggle wars, by the way – says it happens because the economy booms after wars. However, wizarding wars are much different than muggle ones, I’m sure you can see why.”

“I can wager a guess.”

“Personally, I think it’s due to the mingling of witches and wizards with muggles after the war. As you know, much the wizarding world was quite badly damaged. It pushed more than a few members of the wizarding community out into the muggle world.”

“You seem to know quite a lot on the subject,” Rita muses, her quill scratching lazily at parchment, almost like the topic is a bore.

“Like I said,” Draco shrugs, “it is a favorite conversation topic of Granger’s.”

“Ah of course, and you listen because she is your superior after all.”

Draco doesn’t like the suggestive tone of her voice.

“I pay attention because I find muggle theory intriguing.”

“Or is it because you find Ms. Granger herself intriguing?”

She sounds incredibly smug.

“Excuse me?” Draco frowns, trying to channel his best Malfoy glare.

“Oh nothing, I just happened to notice how frequently you praise Ms. Granger and all her special – _abilities_.”

“Hermione is my _boss_ ,” Draco says very slowly, placing extra emphasis on the last word. “My superior, as you correctly observed.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that a muggle-born was chosen for the position over you?”

Draco’s fists clench where they are tucked under his armpits, he can feel the vein in his forehead throb with temper.

“Hermione is far more qualified than half of the insufferable twats that run this Ministry,” he snaps, voice rising at the witch across from him in spite of the growing smirk on her face. “It would be foolish of me to think I could ever compete with her, even if she is being put to waste in this dump.”

“Not so much of a Ministry man now are you, Mr. Malfoy?”

“What do you want me to say, Ms. Skeeter?”

He’s sitting up in his chair now, arms clasped tightly over the desk. Draco can barely form a coherent thought over roar of blood rushing in his ears.

His temper is one trait from his childhood he never quite managed to control.

He vaguely registers the speed at which her quill is taking notes.

“Only what you wish to tell me. Why is it that you’re so reserved whenever the subject of Ms. Granger comes up? Are you afraid to criticize her leadership because she holds the power of your employment in her hands?”

Draco pushes away from the desk and stands forcefully.

“How dare you suggest – ”

“Drac – oh!”

Just outside his periphery – tinged red with anger – Draco had missed the gentle click of his door opening.

His shoulders deflate at the sight of her.

He can imagine how ridiculous the scene in front of Granger looks. Draco, basically poised to duel, and Rita Skeeter, lounging in the chair across from him with pure unadulterated glee written all over her face. She always did love to stir the cauldron.

Granger looks bewildered.

“I didn’t know you had company! I’m sorry, Malfoy, I should have knocked – here let me just – I’ll be going.”

She’s vibrating with nervous energy as she turns to leave, but –

“Granger wait,” He interrupts his own thoughts firmly, and then adds a little softer, “Wait please. Ms. Skeeter and I were just finishing up.”

Rita scoffs, “On the contrary, I believe we were in the middle of a discussion directly involving you Ms. Granger, but I understand a dismissal when I see one.”

She summons her belonging and nods to his wild haired witch, who moves further into the room and returns the gesture with a soft, “Have a nice day, Rita.”

The door swings shut behind the reporter with another click that Draco doesn’t register because he’s too focused on the witch in front of him.

She looks terribly concerned, eyebrows drawn upwards as her eyes sweep up and down – assessing him. Her small fingers are fiddling with the file folder in her hand and _gods_ – Draco wants to take them in his own, to smooth the crease between her eyes with the pads of his fingers and he has to clench his fists at his side again to keep from reaching out.

“Are you okay Draco? I didn’t hear anything and I know you have a silencing charm outside your office for a reason,” she sets the file atop his desk and steps closer, “but you can tell me anything, you know that right?”

Anything, but not everything.

“It’s just Rita Skeeter doing what she does best, being a bug,” he aims for light and airy, but the words come out heavier than he intends.

“You can’t let her get to you, Draco, you know she’s not worth losing your temper over.”

She says it so kindly, so matter-of-factly, like she doesn’t know losing his temper is worth everything if it means he can shield her from a world that tries so hard to invade the privacy she worked tirelessly for after the war.

He sighs. “I’ll be sure to work on it Granger. What’s in the file?”

Her eyes light up and all things Rita Skeeter are forgotten.

“Well, you see – ”

She brushes past him and parks herself in _his_ chair behind _his_ desk, launching into details about their newest case.

The scent of her will linger in the upholstery of his chair for days.

He can’t help but chuckle, leaning against the desk next to her, drinking in the energized look on her face, and his heartbeat finally begins to slow.

**_Winter, 2005_ **

Ginny bets ten galleons that it’ll happen at the New Year’s dinner party the Potters hold every year.

She tells Rita, “Harry begged me not to, but I told him to bugger off because he can’t tell me what to do with my galleons when I make more than him anyways.”

A week later, Harry Potter himself materializes in her office from under his invisibility cloak and pleads with Rita for her silence.

He bets ten more galleons that it won’t happen until Valentine’s day.

On Tuesday, Justin rummages through his Ministry robes and presents Rita with a suspiciously sticky galleon, along with a few rusty knuts.

“That should do it then!”

She eyes them in disgust and pretends not to notice, but marks him down nonetheless for Malfoy’s birthday – June 5th of the following year.

The next week she receives three owls from Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley, and – most notably – Neville Longbottom. Their combined forty galleons go to Goblin Bank Holiday, Easter, and the last day of Yule, respectively.

(Rita’s curiosity gets the better of her and she owls Luna for an explanation, to which she receives a note that simply reads, ‘ _The banks will be closed, how romantic is that?’_ tied around a suspicious looking shrivelfig and radish bar. Rita doesn’t know why she expected any different.)

Theo Nott, despite his temporary ban from the Ministry, pokes his head through the DMLE fireplace and coughs, “20 galleons on the 20th of January. Don’t ask me how I know,” and disappears through the floo as quickly as he came.

Something about a time turner rings vaguely familiar in the back of Rita’s head, but she marks him down all the same.

When Blaise Zabini rolls around her office for a second time and places a cool fifty galleons on “The day either one of those idiots quits their job,” Rita finally admits to herself that she might want in on the action.

She put her name and five galleons on the summer solstice.

Rita is a journalist, she can sense these things, and she doesn’t think Granger and Malfoy will get their act together any time soon.

* * *

Hermione feels like one of the dolls she used to primp and dress and prance around the house when she was a little girl.

She looks beautiful – _feels_ beautiful, even – but at the same time feels a bit like a peacock showing off its feathers.

Tonight is the annual Ministry Holiday Gala, and Pansy has her dressed in a silky floor length gown of a rich green that pairs perfectly with her lightly tanned skin. A large slit runs up the length of the skirt until it connects with a mostly sheer bodice. She’s paired it with simple heels in the same color that make her legs look impossibly long.

She thinks it must be a trick of magic.

Her curls have been pinned to the side and draped over her right shoulder, tamed by an entire apothecary’s worth of Sleekeazy’s, but the end result is absolutely worth it.

She amends her previous statement. She doesn’t just feel beautiful, she feels divine.

“Divine?” Pansy scoffs besides her, “Granger, you look fucking delectable. If I swung that way, I would have ravished you on top of your desk 10 minutes ago.”

“Pansy!” Hermione scolds, trying to sound affronted but the effect is ruined by the violent blush blooming across her cheeks and exposed chest.

“She’s right you know,” Ginny pipes up from her spot on the couch in corner. “If Harry hadn’t made an honest woman out of me yet – ” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione allows herself to preen at the attention, she does feel inexplicably sexy.

Pansy looks her up and down and hums appreciatively, “I could still do it,” she mimics Ginny’s eyebrow wiggle. “We have an hour until the gala, it might loosen you up – you’re too beautiful to look so bloody tense all the time.”

“Hush Pansy, I’m not tense, I’m just a bit preoccupied. You know I haven’t been to one of these since – ”

“ – The Mistletoe Incident?” Her friends chime in sync.

“If you two must call it that, then yes, since that year.”

“Fine,” Pansy pouts, “All I’m saying is that if not me, someone should get to.”

“To what?”

“Ravish you on the desk of course!” Ginny supplies.

The obscene blush is back.

“Merlin’s beard, Ginevra! There will be no ravishing tonight. I’m pretty sure if I eat even the smallest bite I might bust a seam on this dress.”

“What a shame,” Pansy laments, “and I had such a good candidate in mind too.” She pauses, like she knows Hermione is itching to ask who, but she remains stoic and so Pansy sighs. “Alright, but never mind you, eat and drink all you want dear, that’s where the magic happens. All Parkinson Style dresses are charmed for just about magical fashion mishap you can think of.”

“Bless your soul, Pans, you know it’s a big night for me,” Hermione drops a kiss on her friends cheek and bustles around the barren desk in the middle of her empty office in search of her bag.

“Yeah, yeah,” she shrugs, uncharacteristically bashful. “What _would_ you do without me?”

“I’d hate to find out,” Hermione beams. “Now, Rita is going to drop by for a last minute interview before the big – you know – _reveal._ Godric knows I’ve avoided her for long enough. You two can stay if you’d like – ”

“Goodness no, you and I both know what will happen if I have to be in the same room as that woman for more than a few minutes.” Pansy shudders at the mere idea. “No, I need to dress Ginny and then myself, so we’ll be on our way.”

She’s gathering up the remaining dress bags and Ginny rises from the couch to follow.

“We’ll see you at the Gala, ‘Mione.” Ginny hugs her gently and fiercely says, “Don’t forget how gorgeous you look. Tonight is your night,” accompanied by a little shake of her shoulder and it makes Hermione feel stronger – a little steadier.

“And when you see Draco, dear – ” Pansy calls out from the doorway with a smirk, “ – please take a picture of his face, I’d hate for such perfect blackmail to go to waste.”

And then they’re gone, giggling down the hall, leaving Hermione in what, after tonight, will officially no longer be her office at the Ministry.

She’s not leaving for good of course, but she’s spent the past few months working overtime with Kingsley and Gethsemane Prickle from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to secure her transfer at the most opportune time.

It should feel like a step backwards, career wise, quitting her position as Head of her own department, but a spark ignites inside of her when she thinks about all the possibilities her future holds.

Sometimes she thinks she made a rash decision when she joined the DMLE straight out of Hogwarts. She was still feeling the after effects of the war when Harry and Ron became Aurors, and it seemed natural to follow in their path – after all, it’s all she had known for seven years.

And things came up along the way – people came up along the way – and Hermione’s brain sang of second chances and forgiveness, so she stayed.

She fought for her promotion for the same reasons, but after six long years, she finally feels ready to leave, ready for something more.

Hermione looks around the office she’s spent the last few years in – lived in, cried in (and fell in and out of love in), survived panic attacks in, and made friends in, and all she feels is peace.

She’s spent most of the past year falling asleep on that soft red couch in the corner during her lunch breaks – an arrangement she and Draco came to after she passed out in the field from lack of sleep.

When she woke up in St. Mungo’s, Draco had dropped to his knees at her bedside and begged her to let him help.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she had always struggled sleeping alone. After seven years of sleeping in a shared dorm followed by months of sleeping in tents in and around greater Britain hunting for horcruxes, she had come to rely on the company of others to sleep through the dreams that haunted her.

Ever since she moved out of 12 Grimmauld Place and into her own lonely flat after Harry and Ginny got married, she had been struggling with insomnia.

The one hour a day she got to sleep on her couch while Draco sat behind her desk and scribbled away at his paperwork became her saving grace during that dark time.

She used to be afraid to admit it was _his_ presence that made her feel safe enough to be so vulnerable, but in multiple aspects of her life, Hermione is tired of denying herself of what she wants.

Speaking of what she wants –

“Hey, Granger,” Draco’s smooth voice rolls over her name from just outside her door. “Skeeter said Pansy told her you were – looking for me,” His voice cracks over the last few syllables as he steps through the doorway. _Good._

She turns to face him, standing in the middle of the room. His jaw is hanging open.

“Well hello there,” He recovers smoothly, schooling his look of awe into a disarmingly handsome smile, then whistles lowly as he looks her up and down.

Hermione is on fire.

“You look very handsome, Draco,” she has to say something because he won’t stop staring at her, steely grey eyes ablaze. “Who knew those Ministry robes were doing you such a disservice.”

It’s her turn to drink him in.

He’s wearing a _very_ well-tailored suit, soft velvet and black in color with a matching bow tie, over a crisp white shirt and vest, adorned with heavy silver cufflinks she knows must cost a fortune. His hair lies in soft blonde waves over his forehead, and his smile is downright goofy at this point.

 _Delectable_ , Hermione thinks, _worthy of being ravished._

Draco steps all the way into her office and shuts the door behind himself with a gentle but meaningful _click_.

“So says you,” His voice is deep, almost sensual, and it’s like pure adrenaline for the butterflies in her stomach, but when he speaks again, something cracks. “You look breathtaking, Hermione.” It sounds adoring – reverential. “How anyone is supposed to focus on anything other than you in that dress tonight is beyond me,” he adds, clearing his throat.

She decides she has to touch him. To hold him, maybe smooth a hand over the soft lapel of his suit jacket, to feel the hard chest beneath it, to see if his heart is beating as fast at hers after just a few words and sultry looks.

She takes a step towards him, and he does the same – gaze steady and brilliant and borderline melting her insides – but the movement draws his attention away from her long enough to take in the state of her office he had overlooked before.

“Wait,” his eyes track from her empty shelves, to the barren desk, to the cushion-less couch in the corner and then back to her. “What is this?”

His voice is shaking, breathy and hesitant. She smiles coyly and says, “It’s my office, Draco.”

“Yes but why is it empty?” He demands. “Where are – where are the pictures of your parents? Of Potter and Weasley and Ginny and Teddy and – where is that wretched yellow blanket you can’t sleep without or that – that hideous binder system you love that I tease you about so much,” he sounds frantic, and amidst his rambling he had taken two large steps towards her, closing the distance until their toes were nearly touching. “Where is everything?”

He’s breathing heavily, swaying on his feet and she reaches two hands up to grasp his lapels, just as soft as she imagined, and then flattens both hands across his chest to steady him.

“Draco its all right,” she soothes, “everything is safe at my flat.”

“But why aren’t they here?” He whines, reminding Hermione of just how petulant he can be. Some things never change.

She takes a deep breath. This is where everything changes.

“My things isn’t here because after tonight, this won’t be my office anymore. I’m leaving the DMLE.”

He says nothing for a terrifying minute, brows furrowed and large shaky hands grasping her forearms that bridge the gap between them.

He takes a large shuddering breath and concern crosses her face. She’s never seen him look so distraught.

“So that means – ”

He looks to her for guidance.

“I owled Kingsley my resignation letter this afternoon.”

His voice is whisper quiet when he asks, “Are you leaving for good?”

“No, Draco,” she can’t help but release the hysterical giggle that tickles her throat. “I’m just switching departments.”

“Magical Creatures?”

“Magical Creatures,” she confirms with a soft smile.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve been working with Kingsley to transfer for a few months, but he wanted me to set things up to transfer to a new Head, whoever that may be. That’s why I’ve been so busy lately.”

She thinks, _it could be you. You deserve that much._

“So that means you’re not my boss anymore?”

“After tonight? No, I’m no longer your boss.”

“Semantics,” he says breathily, tinged with humor – a hint of the normal Draco peeking through the fog.

“Alright, as of this moment you could say I’m not your boss, the work day is over after all.”

“So that means – ”

“Yes, Draco.”

“I can – can I, er – would it be appropriate – ”

“ _Yes, Draco.”_

“ _Hermione_ ,” His voice cracks, hands sliding up her arms and chest, coming to rest on the juncture between her neck and shoulders, just barely close enough to swipe a thumb under her jaw, fingertips burning into her skin like a brand. “Don’t mess with me.”

His eyes are wide, searching hers for permission, and she reaches up to brush a stray blond wave out of the way so she can see them better, resting her hand against his cheek on the way down.

“I’m not messing with you, it’s okay,” she says earnestly, trying to convey just how much is truly okay when she’s with him. When he doesn’t move, Hermione sighs, “Come here, Draco.”

The dam breaks.

He’s so tall, she’s always noticed of course, but the distance feels much too far as Draco takes an agonizingly slow time to draw his lips to hers.

 _Finally_ , his soft lips slip perfectly between her own, warm and hard and hungry, and Hermione _takes_.

Her other hand slips up into his hair as she drags him down further, lips moving against his slowly at first, until she becomes frustrated that he won’t let himself go like she so desperately wants him to.

She whines into his mouth, and it spurs Draco into action.

His arms slip from her face and wrap tightly around her waist. His lips move hungrily against her own, tongue swiping at her bottom lip, making her dizzy with need.

His tongue dives into her mouth when she gasps at the intensity of it all, caressing the soft insides of her mouth like it’s a personal mission to explore as much of her as possible.

She needs to breathe though, and so pulls back to signal to Draco, who bites gently on her bottom lip and drags it through his teeth as she draws away – not entirely sensual in nature, although it does light a small flame in her stomach, but because he wants to this moment to last as long as possible.

He rests his forehead on hers, breathing heavily with his arms still wrapped around her waist, and steals one more hard kiss.

Hermione is beaming.

“You still with me?”

“Always, Granger,” he breathes, laden with meaning. “I’d like to do that again later, if you don’t mind, maybe under the mistletoe, and probably later again after that, for the foreseeable future.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

Draco’s hands slip from her back to rest neatly at her waist.

“You’re really leaving then?”

“For real. I’ve been working with Kingsley – the spots all yours if you want it,” she gestures widely at the office around them.

“I don’t think I could live up to your legacy,” He teases, but Hermione knows deep down that he really doesn’t think he’s worthy of things like this. They’ll have to work on that. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about enrolling in Auror training, I suppose now is as good of a time as ever.”

Hermione’s heart aches for him. “I think that would be really good for you, Draco.”

He leans back ever so slightly to drink the sight of her in, and Hermione remembers, “the Gala!”

“The Gala can wait Granger,” Draco chuckles, “I’ve only just got my time with you and I think I’ve waited long enough.”

“Oh hush, you,” she swats at his chest, but slips her hand under the his suit, resting over his heart – still pounding. She looks at the clock – almost time. “And I was supposed to meet with Rita too, oh well, I suppose I’ve avoided her this long, she won’t notice one more night.”

“I think it’s safe to say the Skeeter business was a set up on Pansy’s part.” Draco lifts his hands from her waist and Hermione immediately misses the warmth, but it’s not gone for long as he offers her the crook of his elbow.

She grabs it and huffs gently, picking her wand off the desk and flicking the lights of her office off with a gentle swish. “I suppose you’re right, she always has been a meddler. You can thank her for the dress.”

Draco opens the door and lets her walk through first.

“You look absolutely stunning, Hermione. I enjoy the color very much, quite Slytherin of you,” he licks his lips, looking very much like he wants to take her back into the office and lock the door behind them.

Hermione thinks there might be some ravishing tonight after all.

“I’ll have to send her a personal thank you note on our behalf.”

When she shuts the door behind them with a finite click, it feels like opening a new chapter in her life.

* * *

In the end, the bet pool gets split evenly three ways between the very smug pair of Pansy and Blaise, and to everyone’s surprise, Luna, because apparently the Goblin Bank Holiday fell on the day of the Gala.

“The sensual energy in the air irresistible,” Luna says mystically, when asked about it later.

And as much as it pains her to admit, Rita can’t even mad that it’s going to taker her a whole additional month to collect interviews for her book because of her brief foray into Ministry match making.

After all, a Granger-Malfoy relationship will supply her with enough gossip to last a century, she’s sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it to the end! I'd love to know what you thought of it!
> 
> Also, a general aside, I know Pansy as a designer isn't an original idea, but I'm not entirely sure who to credit for that, so if you do, please let me know!
> 
> Also, think Zendaya's Poison Ivy-esque look that she wore to the emmy's last year as inspo for Hermione's dress. And think Draco's yule ball outfit for his, but as a suit instead of robes.
> 
> XX. Sara


End file.
